replied that he was
well: had not relinquished his daily Drives: and was (when she wrote)
reading Shakespeare and Boswell's Hebrides. The mention of him reminds
me of your saying--or writing--that you felt shy of 'intruding' yourself
upon him by a Visit. My dear Mrs. Kemble, this is certainly a mistake
(wilful?) of yours; he may have too many ordinary Visitors; but I am
quite sure that he would be gratified at your taking the trouble to go
and see him. Pray try, weather and flannel permitting.

I find some good Stuff in Bagehot's Essays, in spite of his name, which
is simply 'Bagot,' as men call it. Also, I find Hayward's Select Essays
so agreeable that I suppose they are very superficial.

At night comes my quaint little Reader with Chambers' Journal, and All
[the] Year Round--the latter with one of Trollope's Stories {171}--always
delightful to me, and (I am told) very superficial indeed, as compared to
George Eliot, whom I cannot relish at all.

Thus much has come easily to my pen this day, and run on, you see, to the
end of a second Sheet. So I will 'shut up,' as young Ladies now say; but
am always and sincerely yours

E. F.G.

LXIX.

WOODBRIDGE: _Febr_: 3/80.

MY DEAR LADY,

I do not think it is a full month since I last taxed you for some account
of yourself: but we have had hard weather, you know, ever since: your
days have been very dark in London, I am told, and as we have all been
wheezing under them, down here, I want to know how you stand it all. I
only hope my MS. is not very bad; for I am writing by Candle, before my
Reader comes. He eat such a Quantity of Cheese and Cake between the Acts
that he could scarce even see to read at all after; so I had to remind
him that, though he was not quite sixteen, he had much exceeded the years
of a Pig. Since which we get on better. I did not at all like to have
my Dombey spoiled; especially Captain Cuttle, God bless him, and his
Creator, now lying in Westminster Abbey. The intended Pathos is, as
usual, missed: but just turn to little Dombey's Funeral, where the
Acrobat in the Street suspends his performance till the Funeral has
passed, and his Wife wonders if the little Acrobat in her Arms will so
far outlive the little Boy in the Hearse as to wear a Ribbon through his
hair, following his Father's Calling. It is in such Side-touches, you
know, that Dickens is inspired to Create like a little God Almighty. I
have read half his lately publi